


Sleeping with the Enemy

by OpalizedFossil



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalizedFossil/pseuds/OpalizedFossil
Summary: Lars ignores the doctor's orders.





	Sleeping with the Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> It's been 84 years but here's a new fic. Finally.

The citrine soldier catches Lars by surprise and he doesn’t have the chance to right himself before the dagger is slicing cleanly across the breadth of his chest. The blade slices through the fabric of his shirt like hot butter and sinks half an inch into his skin and out again, leaving him gasping for breath in frenzy and panic and sending him scrambling for the safety of the Sun Incinerator. Fortunately, the citrine is heavier and slower than him and, even with the wound oozing fresh hot blood that scatters in magenta droplets on the earth behind him, he outruns her.

Rhodonite closes the wound with seventeen stitches. Lars only grunts faintly in response when she tells him to rest and sends him to the captain’s chambers to do so. He never listens, not for long.

He’s been in bed for a few hours, semi-conscious in the ambient light of a single lamp, when something disturbs him. He opens his eyes, one eyelid hanging slightly lower than the other where the scar on the right side of his face has raggedly healed, and listens. There’s the faintest sound above him in the air ducts, a quiet rapping on sheets of metal, and he isn’t surprised at all when the vent to his left swings open and Emerald drops out. She lands in a crouch, almost silent except for the faint smack of her bare feet hitting the floor. Her eight-inch heels are gone, and so are her overstated shoulder pads and fur-lined cape, leaving her clad in a plain black jumpsuit that hugs a little too tightly to her lithe figure.

“Come to visit me?” Lars remarks, eying the whisper of fabric clinging skintight to the small of her back and the swell of her buttocks. His lower lip trembles in excitement. He knows all too well what happens next. This is a game many months in the making, and it’s her turn to move.

“I came to inform you,” she says as she straightens and stalks towards him, already shedding gloves and unzipping the torso of her tight black jumpsuit. Disheveled tufts of off-white fur spill free from the tight-fitting fabric. It caught him off-guard at first, the way the fringe of fur around her neck was not an artificial collar on her uniform but a part of her body, fluffy and soft and falling in unruly curls from her collarbone to her shoulder blades. But now, it’s a welcome sight, one he’s spent hours burying his nose in and inhaling the feminine scent of her from, making it slick with sweat underneath him and watching it bounce and blow with his hot breath above him, “that the citrine who attacked you was shattered in mysterious circumstances a few hours ago.”

Lars shudders. She says it so casually. He’s known for so long now that she’s perfectly willing to kill for him, but it still startles him every time. “Why?” he whispers into the cool air of the room as she climbs astride his lap, thick thighs still clad in glistening spandex straddling his pelvis.

“Because no one better dare to touch what’s mine,” Emerald tells him and kisses him so hard that he’s breathless in a matter of seconds, white-knuckled as he grips tightly to her buttocks and refamiliarizes himself with the shape of them.

Lars gasps as she pulls away and lets him breathe. The sutures in his chest burn as they rise and fall. “She didn’t know.”

“She does now,” Emerald remarks, her one eerily green eye drifting down to his bare chest as she runs a clawed finger along the skin just underneath the wound, “Besides, look what she did to you. How dare her.”

He can’t resist a faint smile. “Yeah. That bitch.”

Emerald smiles, then kisses him again, softer this time. “You have to be more careful. You’re a wanted criminal, you know.”

“I know,” he says, then tries to lean up for another taste of her mouth. She shoves him back down by his shoulder, and he understands. Don’t touch her. Let her touch him.

She’s cautious of where she rests her weight when she leans down to kiss bruises on the tender underside of his throat and chew at his collarbone with the glinting white daggers she has for teeth. She’s in control, but she cares. She doesn’t want to rupture a suture and make him bleed. She doesn’t want him to hurt, at least not that way. He exhales unsteadily as her teeth nip him oh so sweetly beneath the jaw, cock twitching. He barely resists the need to touch her, to grab her and squeeze her and smother her with his tongue in her mouth while he grinds their hips together down below. But he won’t, not tonight, because she’s in control.

Emerald checks his wound when she pauses, to make sure no stitches are popped and nothing is bleeding. He can see her criticizing and checking Rhodonite’s careful work in her one gleaming green eye, scrutinizing every suture and carefully considering the distance between them until she’s certain that the wound is properly sealed. Lars is beautiful, right down to his scars. She’s touched and kissed and examined each one and found them to be marks of his bravery (and sometimes, his foolishness) and tenacity and durability. But this one, she feels responsible for, and she doesn’t like it. When it’s healed, she’ll kiss the length of it across his chest and tell him that she’s sorry.

Right now, she shifts her weight off of his waist and settles between his spread legs instead. It takes her no time at all to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his trousers and tug their zipper down, in a few swift fluid motions that she’s practiced a hundred times by now. He’s half-hard when she takes him in her hand and starts to stroke him, in a way that makes his hips twitch and his lower lip tremble before he snares it in his teeth. “Emmy…,” he hums softly, before she leans in and silences him with another kiss, this one rougher and hungrier and filled with the warm wet sensation of her tongue in his mouth, snaking around his and feeling the pitiful blunt shapes of his teeth, so unlike her own.

It doesn’t take much for him to swell to his full size, not when it’s Emerald in bed with him. His cock twitches and throbs in her hand and oozes its first bead of pre along its underside, where it disappears behind her stroking fingers before it’s quickly joined by another. He’s content with this at first, until he has a better idea, waiting for her hungry mouth to pull away before he whispers, “Sit on my face.”

“You’ll strain yourself,” she warns him, but he only grins in that insistent lopsided way of his, until she rolls her eye and releases his cock, leaving his length throbbing unhappily in protest for a moment before it skips in excitement at the sight of her raising up just enough to remove the rest of her jumpsuit. Lars likes to watch her take it off, to see how her breasts are so much larger than they appear in the tight confines of the fabric and how he can just barely glimpse the beginnings of her meticulously groomed pubic hair before the zipper’s reach ends and she has to stand up for a moment to step out of it.

“C’mere,” Lars practically pleads, reaching with both hands for her hips as she climbs back into bed with him and guiding her towards his eagerly parted lips. There was a time when he thought this was gross, and there wasn’t a partner in Beach City who could have convinced him to try it, mostly because he never cared for the taste nor the smell, but Emerald isn’t human and she smells like a soft sweet fantasy dream and tastes like absolutely nothing. And besides, he can’t get enough of her, evidenced in the way his experienced tongue expertly parts her labia and ventures between them to sample the tasteless wetness within, lapping eagerly around her clitoris before he draws it between his lips to suck at it until she gasps sharply and grabs fistfuls of sheets on either side of his head.

She can feel him grinning against her pussy lips, satisfied. Growling, she flicks him in the forehead and stifles his smile with a shuffle of her hips. He makes a “mmph!” noise, then squeezes her hips tighter and resumes his administrations, sucking sharply at her clitoris before letting it go and holding his tongue steady while she grinds herself against it before he begins lapping again. Emerald grips the sheets - pink sheets, he’s had the audacity to dress her stolen bed in pink sheets - in one clawed hand and a fistful of his curly soft hair in the other. Then, suddenly, his head is in her hands and she’s holding him steady while she grinds and thrusts against his face, sloppy wet like she always is, and moaning like there’s no one else aboard the ship when there very much is.  
Lars gazes up at her adoringly as she satisfies herself on his tongue, eyes hazy with arousal even as the sutures in his chest strain and burn with the twitching of his muscles, until he realizes that he needs to breathe and flicks her lightly on the hip. Emerald removes herself, translucent threads of her fluids stretched thin between his tongue and her body as she pulls away. The cool air of the chambers touches his face and he grins lopsidedly at the realization that the tip of his nose is wet.

“I need to fuck you,” Emerald whispers heatedly into the cool of the room. 

Lars nods, then settles back into the veritable mountain of decorative cushions on his bed and sweeps a hand down the length of his body, gesturing to his erect cock. “C’mon. You’re my queen. Sit on your throne.”

She glances at him and remarks, “Cheesy.” But, she doesn’t object to it and he has an ample view of her spread pussy lips and juicy green core as her hips hang in the air for a moment while she repositions herself. She straddles him and he doesn’t miss how her one eye flicks to the stitches in his chest to check for popped sutures or bleeding before she sinks down on him and both of them are helplessly caught up in the sensation of their bodies becoming one.

“Mmm…,” Lars purrs softly as he offers her his hands. She takes them, handholds to steady herself on while she rides him. She sinks down until their hips are flush, chest fluttering, then glides slickly up his length and back down again. This works well at first, but as she starts to hasten their pace, she needs something steadier to hold onto, so she releases his hold and grabs his shoulders instead, leaning down to tickle the underside of his jaw with a peppering of kisses between sharp downward thrusts that send shockwaves up his spine.

“You’re mine,” Emerald tells him - and he knows it to be true. Every bruise and faint bite mark on his neck and shoulders marks him as belonging to her, and he doesn’t mind at all. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” he hums as he reaches for and holds her hips, “I’m yours. You know it.”

“I know it,” she agrees, “I can see it written all over that sorry Off-Color face of yours.”

“What can I say?” Lars chuckles, before his breath catches in his throat and he grips tighter to her lovely shapely hips, “I’m whipped.”

She laughs in her haughty way, the way any good villain does, and he sees a certain twinkle in her eyes as her cheeks flush mossy green. “You are. You’re mine.”  
Lars’ hips twitch up against hers and he knows he doesn’t have much longer. “Yeah, and you’re mine, too, you know that?”

“I know,” Emerald says, before she’s panting and huffing too much to continue their banter and her hips are pounding against him in overdrive and her inner walls are squeezing him oh so tightly and sweetly and wonderfully. Lars grunts when he feels her come, the sudden hot release in her depths evident in the way her body holds so tightly to his and in the breathy little moan she gives him just seconds prior, then sighs happily as his own orgasm fills her.

She’s so beautiful in the afterglow, in ways he will never have the courage to tell her, not even now when he knows that she knows that he loves her. He loves the way her upscale aristocratic hairdo falls apart in frayed little flyaways held up only by her glinting golden tiara, which sits just above her sweat-christened brow and her one gleaming green eye. He loves the way that eye watches him, always on him, always gauging his response and ready to respond in time. He loves the way her pretty lips twitch and tremble before she swipes her green tongue over them and gnaws daintily on the lower one. She’s perfect. She’s his. He loves her.

Lars steels his nerves. He’s about to say it, and then he hears the familiar uneven tap-tap-tap of Rhodonite’s shoes on the tiles in the hall. Emerald hears it, too, and she scrambles for her jumpsuit and then the vent. Lars has never seen her move so swiftly, and he might have been impressed that she was able to jump the distance from the floor to the ceiling on such short notice if he wasn’t so focused on stuffing his dwindling erection back into his trousers and zipping them and covering himself up enough that it’s slightly less obvious that his belt is undone.

Rhodonite knocks, then opens the door without waiting for an answer. Lars tries to look like he’s been resting, pretending to blink himself awake groggily when she approaches. And then he sees it: the vent cover hanging wide open above them.

Rhodonite sees it, too, and looks at him indifferently.

“It, uh...swung open when the air came on. It must be broken,” he lies - badly.

“So, I see your mistress has been here,” Rhodonite replies nonchalantly, then bends down to pick something up off the floor. It’s Emerald’s tiara. “This is hers, isn’t it?”

“Uh…”

“None of my business,” the fusion remarks, “but you’re supposed to be resting, Captain. You’re going to pop a stitch if you keep this up.”

Lars is too embarrassed to answer her at first, before he weakly manages a, “Right.”

She sets the tiara on his nightstand, propping it up against the sunglasses-wearing teddy bear that Steven had brought him some time ago, and turns to leave. “I came to check on you, but I think I should head out of here before she shows back up. She’ll come back for this, hmm?”

“She will,” Lars laments.

“And I suppose she’ll stay the night, too, so I’m going to forget to come back and check on you again. Just keep an eye on those stitches, and stop being so rough. Can’t you two wait just a few days while you heal, Captain?”

“We can try.”

Rhodonite rolls her eyes - all four of them. Then, she’s halfway out the door and remarking, “Have fun sleeping with the enemy.”

Lars can’t help but snicker, even in his embarrassment. “You bet I will.”


End file.
